into what he hoped was reverent anticipation. There was the tap of a cane, the small flurry as his great-aunt and cousin took their places. Then the organ struck up. He kept his eyes forward until he heard the rustle of silk and the sound of Daniel Calne’s shoes on the stone slabs, then he turned.
Arabella was veiled, of course. There was no clue to her emotions behind the cream lace that fell from the bonnet, although the bouquet of roses trembled slightly. She came to a halt by his side and then glanced round as if confused. Elliott braced himself, almost expecting her to bolt, but Dorothy, more familiar with the details of weddings than he, was already coming forwards to take the flowers.
Mr Fanshawe gave them a moment to collect themselves, then began. ‘Dearly beloved…’
‘…you may kiss the bride.’
Arabella was holding on to his hand as though she was drowning. He lifted her veil, trying to communicate reassurance, and saw her face. She is lovely , he thought with a jolt. Her skin was flushed with delicate pink, her eyes were wide and bright, her lips full, tempting. Where had the drab, miserable little vicarage miss gone? But there was apprehension in those hazel eyes and the full lower lip was not quite steady. No need to alarm her, he thought, dropping a light kiss on her mouth.
Bella curled her fingers hard into Elliott’s grip to steady herself. The bride. I am now Lady Hadleigh. His face came into focus as he lifted the veil, pale and serious, those startling eyes almost ink blue as he studied her face. He is realising that he has committed himself irrevocably , she thought as he bent to kiss her. Her lips wanted to cling to his for reassurance, but already he was straightening; the firm pressure had lingered for just the right amount of time for the place and occasion.
How competent he is, how assured, how certain of how things must be done. And I am none of those things. But she had been, until Rafe had come into her life and turned it on its head. She had been a dutiful daughter, a competent housewife, an efficient support to the parish. Would any of those talents be of use at all now? It was time to learn to be a viscountess.
Bella lifted her chin and straightened her back as she placed her hand on Elliott’s arm. Deportment and dignity were important. She took her bouquet from Miss Dorothy and matched her steps to Elliott’s slow stride as he began to walk back down the aisle. Following his example, she looked from side to side, smiling and nodding to the strangers who were watching her. There was an unexpected number of people filling the pews. On her way to the altar she had been too nervous to look.
Many must be the staff, inside and outside, from the Hall and the Dower House. But there was a neat little woman who was perhaps the vicar’s wife and a young lady with a little girl on her best behaviour at her side,both of them smiling at someone behind Bella and Elliott—Mrs Baynton, she guessed.
For all the short notice, this was not a hole-in-corner affair, which was a relief. She had worried for Elliott’s reputation if there was gossip now. That would come when her pregnancy became obvious, but perhaps by then people would have got over the shock of the sudden marriage, provided she comported herself suitably.
Elliott had arranged matters so that it seemed just what he had said—a hurried marriage because of the bride’s unreasonable father. I must write to Papa , she realised, then pushed away the unpleasant thought until tomorrow at least. There was too much else to deal with today.
They emerged into a sunny May afternoon, the guests flocking out behind them, to find the churchyard full of curious and smiling villagers. ‘I am glad this is a country wedding,’ she whispered to Elliott and he smiled down at her.
Something tugged at her skirt and she looked down to find a small boy holding out a fistful of wild flowers. He was solemn, chubby and with a front tooth missing.
Arabella was veiled, of course. There was no clue to her emotions behind the cream lace that fell from the bonnet, although the bouquet of roses trembled slightly. She came to a halt by his side and then glanced round as if confused. Elliott braced himself, almost expecting her to bolt, but Dorothy, more familiar with the details of weddings than he, was already coming forwards to take the flowers.
Mr Fanshawe gave them a moment to collect themselves, then began. ‘Dearly beloved…’
‘…you may kiss the bride.’
Arabella was holding on to his hand as though she was drowning. He lifted her veil, trying to communicate reassurance, and saw her face. She is lovely , he thought with a jolt. Her skin was flushed with delicate pink, her eyes were wide and bright, her lips full, tempting. Where had the drab, miserable little vicarage miss gone? But there was apprehension in those hazel eyes and the full lower lip was not quite steady. No need to alarm her, he thought, dropping a light kiss on her mouth.
Bella curled her fingers hard into Elliott’s grip to steady herself. The bride. I am now Lady Hadleigh. His face came into focus as he lifted the veil, pale and serious, those startling eyes almost ink blue as he studied her face. He is realising that he has committed himself irrevocably , she thought as he bent to kiss her. Her lips wanted to cling to his for reassurance, but already he was straightening; the firm pressure had lingered for just the right amount of time for the place and occasion.
How competent he is, how assured, how certain of how things must be done. And I am none of those things. But she had been, until Rafe had come into her life and turned it on its head. She had been a dutiful daughter, a competent housewife, an efficient support to the parish. Would any of those talents be of use at all now? It was time to learn to be a viscountess.
Bella lifted her chin and straightened her back as she placed her hand on Elliott’s arm. Deportment and dignity were important. She took her bouquet from Miss Dorothy and matched her steps to Elliott’s slow stride as he began to walk back down the aisle. Following his example, she looked from side to side, smiling and nodding to the strangers who were watching her. There was an unexpected number of people filling the pews. On her way to the altar she had been too nervous to look.
Many must be the staff, inside and outside, from the Hall and the Dower House. But there was a neat little woman who was perhaps the vicar’s wife and a young lady with a little girl on her best behaviour at her side,both of them smiling at someone behind Bella and Elliott—Mrs Baynton, she guessed.
For all the short notice, this was not a hole-in-corner affair, which was a relief. She had worried for Elliott’s reputation if there was gossip now. That would come when her pregnancy became obvious, but perhaps by then people would have got over the shock of the sudden marriage, provided she comported herself suitably.
Elliott had arranged matters so that it seemed just what he had said—a hurried marriage because of the bride’s unreasonable father. I must write to Papa , she realised, then pushed away the unpleasant thought until tomorrow at least. There was too much else to deal with today.
They emerged into a sunny May afternoon, the guests flocking out behind them, to find the churchyard full of curious and smiling villagers. ‘I am glad this is a country wedding,’ she whispered to Elliott and he smiled down at her.
Something tugged at her skirt and she looked down to find a small boy holding out a fistful of wild flowers. He was solemn, chubby and with a front tooth missing.
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